


The First Order Army And Navy Club

by verybadhedgehog



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Crack, Croquet, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pastiche, Tennis, after dinner speech, british upper middle classes at play, canonverse, dressing for dinner, first order officers at play, hux's awful sister, kylo ren drinking pimms through a straw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 20:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9842012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/pseuds/verybadhedgehog
Summary: Kylo Ren has been commanded by the Supreme Leader to pay a visit to the First Order Home World (a recolonised planet) for political and morale purposes, and has been forced to accept General Hux's invitation to the First Order Army and Navy Club.The world of manicured lawns and wood panelled dining rooms is alien to Kylo, but he copes somehow, through cucumber sandwiches, Pimms, croquet, after dinner conversation and the dynamics of the Hux family.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is another thing I started way back pre-Armitage Day, and although I never finished it then, I couldn't bear to discard Hux's Awful Sister Ellis and his class status. This is thus a canon-adjacent AU and this particular work is a lighthearted pastiche that either gently satirises or grossly romanticises British colonial imperialism, class and culture.

It was a pleasant Friday afternoon at the First Order Home World Army and Navy Club. The sun shone, as was correct. The grass was green and well-tended, as was correct. Not a weed was to be seen in the herbaceous border, as was correct. The air was filled with the pleasant clack of croquet mallet on ball, as was correct. 

Kylo Ren, master of the Knights of Ren, sat alone at a garden table clad in his full cloth armour and struggled to feel that his presence, though demanded, was remotely correct.

He had been required to visit Home World for reasons related to morale, as if officers and administrators would be cheered by the sight of him. Or, more accurately, as if he were some kind of wild animal leashed and on display. To be fair, it was good and proper to inspire awe, as the First Order’s weapon in human form, and he had performed the role as the Supreme Leader willed it. 

The invitation to the Army and Navy Club had come from General Hux, but with the added weight of the Supreme Leader’s will behind it, so he could not refuse. Even if he had dared, a refusal would cause a great deal of political offence and strife which would rebound not only on Hux, but on him personally. If it were merely a question of disappointing Hux, Kylo would have fucked off on the next ship leaving port, without a qualm and quite possibly with a song in his heart.

The whole thing was horribly reminiscent of the life Kylo thought he’d left behind when he renounced Senator Organa and her duplicitous uncaring ways. Mixing. Mingling. Social events. Political shoulder-rubbing and glad-handing. Unutterable tedium. Cucumber fucking sandwiches.

He was quite hungry.

The cucumber sandwiches on a tray on the next table were quite small.

He hadn’t removed his helmet partly as a point of principle and partly to discourage people from approaching him and attempting to make conversation. He wasn’t about to remove it now for the sake of eating. But the cucumber sandwiches _were_ quite small. It would be possible to sneak one under the faceplate of his mask and at least get a little sustenance.

He rose, took two steps, reached out and palmed a couple of sandwiches.

As he assessed the situation and prepared to deliver a sandwich to its target, a tall red-haired woman approached, dressed in the type of tailoring favoured by government administrators. 

“I don’t have to ask to see that you’re enjoying yourself splendidly, Knight Commander,” she declared.

“Mrs Veltin.”

“Watching the top brass at play?”

“So it would appear.”

“And you don’t even have a bloody drink to your name. My brother’s hospitality is getting rather poor.” She snapped her head towards the croquet lawn and shouted across, “D! Are there any drinks coming or are you happy to see your esteemed colleague die of thirst. Don’t answer the second part.”

General Hux, dressed for play in pale grey shirt and shorts, lined up his ball by an opponent’s ball and played a finely calculated croquet shot, taking his ball just through the next hoop and forcing the opposition ball nearly off the edge of the lawn. His playing partner, a prissy young lieutenant from the bridge of the Finalizer, gave a shout of applause. Dreadful suck-up that he was. Hux then stood upright, though leaning on his croquet mallet in an uncharacteristically semi-casual pose, and addressed his sister.

“Ellis! Shall I take a brief pause in this match and fetch you and your new friend some drinks, or will you step indoors and flag down a steward?”

“He’s _your_ guest.”

Kylo clenched a fist and tried hard to remain calm. It was all happening again. People talking about him when he was right there. Arguing over him. Using him to score points off each other. People making out he was some kind of burden when he hadn’t even asked for a drink. Although, yes, he would like one. But that wasn’t the point. Damn, he could break something.

The dispute resolved itself with Ellis Veltin striding purposely towards the wisteria-clad summer common room.

“Do you think she’s bringing one for me?” asked one of Hux’s opponents.

“Do you, Major Sander?” asked Hux with a faint smirk. “Hope springs eternal.” The game recommenced.

Kylo managed another sandwich, while attention was not on him. He cast his eyes, as subtly as possible through the limited field of vision accorded him by his mask, to the form of Hux bowed over his ball, mallet between his legs, preparing to take a shot. It should by rights have looked silly and awkward, but Hux made the pose look natural and elegant. The angle of his back was pleasing and Hux’s stance brought out a little definition in his wiry little calves. He took his shot in a smooth, effortless motion, and stood upright in a smooth effortless motion. When one didn’t have to listen to the man’s self-satisfied nonsense, he was not _entirely_ unpleasant to behold.  

Ellis returned, bearing a large jug of drink – an amber toned substance with chunks of fruit salad and foliage floating in it. A steward accompanied her, carrying glasses on a tray.

“Fortunately for at least one of us, there are straws.”

“How thoughtful.”

Her jabs had, Kylo thought, a little more wit than those of her brother. Perhaps this was the (comparatively) clever Hux sibling. What a treat.

Ellis poured two generous glasses of the fruit-laden drink and scooped a selection of garnishes in with it.

Kylo manoeuvred the straw under his faceplate. Necessary. One took necessary measures. 

The drink was perfectly pleasant. To be honest, the setting was perfectly pleasant, and the game of croquet appeared to be a perfectly reasonable physics based pastime. It was the social side, with the small talk and the petty social climbing that he could do without. The military were all very well when they were fighting battles and keeping order. This fuss was a waste of everyone’s time, his in particular. It had nothing to do with his unique set of skills, it was a distraction from his spiritual mission, and it was not being done in the service of any political or diplomatic cause. For the sake of gaining support for the First Order, he might agree to sit at dinner with nobles and diplomats and pick at a piece of baked fish. Sipping fruit cups and endeavouring to not play croquet – this was not expedient.

“Are you sure you don’t want to play?”

“Your interrogation techniques are outmoded, Mrs Veltin. But you seem keen to show them off.”

“Happy just to watch my brother?”

“Happiness is not up for debate here.”

Ellis seemed to weigh this up for a moment. “Something about the game fascinates you. And I wouldn’t have thought the genetic blessing that is the Hux family knees much of an attraction,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her own.

“It is less dull than everything else.”

Laughter of a particularly grating kind came from the croquet lawn. 

“You don’t have to play _with_ him, you know. You could play _against_ him.”

“The thought does not appeal.”

Ellis sipped at her drink. “I rather think it does, you know.”

Ren cursed her, but her attack did not cease. “You must be bloody hot under there.”

“Endurance is part of my training and my calling.”

“Oh, don’t be bloody ridiculous.”

She was worse than her brother. She actually was.

“I don’t believe I have to sit next to you and watch you navigating sandwiches under your mask, I really don’t.”

“I have you under no duress.”

“You look like one of those children’s games where one has to negotiate an asteroid field and park a star cruiser on a hidden space station.”

Nobody was this outrageously rude, while maintaining the conversational upper hand. Not even the General. Some of… Leia Organa’s political colleagues had approached this level of cutthroat sadism. Kylo was discomfited, but at the same time grudgingly impressed. 

“He’s good. But I’m better.”

“I hope you don't expect me to say I am impressed.”

“Not at all. I speak to inform.”

“So you think I would be a handicap, but not an insurmountable one. I am flattered, Mrs Veltin.”

She shrugged, and cut a vicious smile. “We’d beat him. Him and whoever.”

“No.”

Ellis sighed. “The tales of your bloodymindedness pale in comparison to the reality.” She paused before adding Ren’s honorific as an afterthought. “Knight Commander.”

“I will not act as a prop in the latest round of your sibling rivalry. I am not yours to use.” Kylo also paused. “Deputy Minister.”

“A prop? You do yourself a disservice.” Her mouth made the wry, smug shape that appeared to be the birthright of the Huxes. “I’m sure you’d pick the game up very quickly.”

Kylo’s “hmm,” was distorted, but still recognisable as a “hmm.”

“It’s a matter of skill, judgement, precision and intelligence. All qualities you possess.”

“Hmm.”

“Of the two of you, my brother may be the better-known strategist, but you can see a move or two ahead, I’m sure.” 

She was pressing him. And attempting to flatter. This line of attack would have to be diverted.

Kylo unlatched his helmet, took it off, and placed it on the seat beside him. He shook out his hair with a flourish and glowered into the middle distance.

He sensed Ellis’ raised eyebrow more than he saw it. He took another cucumber sandwich and a small handful of the accompanying potato crisps and ate them, then removed the straw from his glass of fruit cup, and sipped. A piece of apple bumped against his lip. He did not put the straw back.

“I will consider,” he said, and brought his attention back to bear upon the game currently in play. He would continue to observe, see what he could make out of the game, and look for weaknesses in the players.

“Kriff it,” he heard one of Hux’s opponents say. “That’s me done, going to have to scatter them.”

“Not a standard leave, Sander, and certainly playable.” Hux paced around, then squatted close to the ground, to better eye up the angle of the balls. He rose in a long graceful movement that not only showed off the form of his back and legs but put the barely-noticeable curve of his bottom into some sort of understandable context, and went to confer with his playing partner.

Kylo gave a dismissive sigh at the in-game jargon. He noted General Hux’s usual smug confidence, but wondered what he could gain by conferring with the meek, obsequious little bridge officer.  As Hux went on to play his turn, he also took the opportunity to assess both the strategy employed, and the long lean lines of Hux’s form, from a variety of angles.

Though both were more sturdily built than the lightweight and lissom General, Ren did not rate either of Hux’s opponents in terms of fitness for combat. Sander in particular had the thick neck and well developed upper body of a man who spent too much time in the officers’ gymnasium, and a way of carrying himself that suggested he did not have the balance or the reflexes to make use of his strength.

Supposedly, these officers were meant to represent the rising talent of the First Order military. He would find out what these two were supposed to be good at, and he would test them.

Through the gate dividing the garden from an avenue which led to a playing field, a child of about ten came running. Ellis extended a hand, palm down and made a simple gesture of lowering her fingers. At this, the child instantly slowed to a walk. It was as if she had used the Force.

“Ugh,” she said. “The children aren’t supposed to see you.”

“He won’t remember. Let him gawk.”

The child approached nearer.

“Mama!”

“What is it, Maron?” Mrs Veltin hissed at her son.

“We won our match, bowled them out…” The boy’s voice tailed off as he noticed Kylo. “ _Oh my word_ , you’re Kylo Ren.”

“Maron Veltin, do not ask such rude questions. And don’t stare.”

“That is who I am.” Kylo spoke over Ellis’s scolding. He looked levelly at the boy, who stared back in rapt awe.   

“That’s your _actual_ face.”

“It is.” 

“Nobody’s supposed to see your actual face.”

“People get executed, I understand,” Ellis interjected.

“Uncle D’s seen him, mama, I’m sure, and he’s not been executed.”

“Your uncle, the General, is allowed.”

Kylo had to bite back a smirk. “No need for concern, Mrs Veltin. Your boy can stare all he likes. He won’t remember a single thing about it.”

He flickered his fingers in the boy’s direction and said, quite factually, “When you have finished here you will leave by the gate. When you pass through the gate you will have no memory of seeing me. You did not see me.”

“I will leave by the gate and I will have no memory of seeing you,” the boy repeated, with confidence. He continued to look Kylo up and down.

“Maron, this staring is not appropriate. Even if you won’t remember what you saw, you still need to behave.”

“Sorry mama.” The boy turned reluctantly and made an effort to observe the game of croquet. Curiosity came off him in sucking, drawing waves.

Hux looked over and acknowledged his nephew. “How was your match?”

“We won, and I made 45. That’s my best score.”

“Very good. Your batting’s coming on now. At this rate you’ll soon have a half century to your name.”

“I hope so, Uncle Dion. Sir.”

Ren noted that Hux did not make a point of telling the child that he didn’t actually need to call him sir. Hux was not a person to ever turn down a “sir” or leave a gift “sir” lying around unwanted. So transparently needy. 

The child trotted off, and as he passed through the gate he paused for a second and shook his head, then ran on his way. Good.

“Under elevens cricket,” Hux said by means of explanation. “Father would be proud of him.”

Ren made a faint noise of acknowledgement.

“I expect you don’t play,” Ellis said.

“No.”

“Pity. You’d be a superb batsman. Wouldn’t he?”

“I’m sure. Your physicality, Ren, would be very well suited. Your training with the blade would be readily adapted to the bat.”

The Master of the Knights of Ren ignored this. The comment could be considered sacrilegious, if he thought about it.

Ellis sighed and partly changed the subject. “Gets tiresome for the young ones, playing the same sides over and over again. More places we can civilise, the more cricket can be played.”

Her brother put his hands on his hips. “Well, quite.”

“So, chop-chop and chins up. Forward with Force.” 

Kylo had not hitherto known that his calling was ultimately in the aim of providing General Hux’s nephew with a variety of cricketing opponents. Of course. It all made such sense now.

One unwanted interruption came on the tail of another. Two young women were approaching from the avenue, dressed for tennis and carrying racquets. The shorter and paler of the two spoke animatedly and her companion nodded appropriately, her sweaty plaits bouncing against her shoulders. The talkative young woman’s pale olive complexion, neat mouth and round dark eyes were vaguely familiar, and Kylo was making an attempt to place her when a cry came from the croquet lawn.

“Zettie!”

“Dopheld!”

Of course. A whatshisface. A Mitaka. Kylo wondered if this place spontaneously generated sisters through some action of the Force.

“Good match?”

“Yes, and it was close. 6-4 6-4 to me.”

“I can’t match her serve at the moment,” the other young woman added.

“Oh, I must introduce you.” Lt Mitaka straightened up into a formal pose. “General Hux, Major Sander, Captain Talbetz; this is my sister Miss Zetelheid Mitaka, and her friend Miss Hullan Benari.”

So the one with the awful laugh was Talbetz. Only a Captain. Kylo wondered just how much trouble he’d get in for quietly disposing of the man. No. Not worth it. He was probably vaguely useful for something.

Handshakes were exchanged all round. 

“Very pleased to meet you. Army or Navy?” 

Hux’s charm was effortless. He could add a carefully measured dash of charm to his starched crispness when he was on duty, and his subordinates seemed to thrive on it, but here he appeared genuinely warm and friendly. On the surface, at least.

 _It’s all an act_ , Kylo felt like shouting out. _He’s a shit when you get to know him_.  

“Navy,” the tall woman replied, her angular ochre-toned face spreading into a taut grin. “I take my commission when we recommence from summer break, sir.”

“Any specialisms?”

“Weapons systems, sir. I’d like to work on missile guidance systems. I tested well on passive sensor data interpretation.”

“I’m sure you’d be an asset to the bridge of any vessel in the fleet, Miss Benari.”

Kylo refrained from rolling his eyes at Hux’s smile. He wished he’d kept his helmet on. He could have indulged in a good hard eye roll.

“And you, Miss Mitaka?”

“Neither,” she chirped. Hux’s eyebrows rose for a second. This was interesting and Kylo rather liked it. The Mitaka girl had played a move that Hux was not expecting. “I’m entering the elite administrator program.”

Kylo felt self satisfaction come off Ellis Veltin like a blast wave from a controlled explosion. She tapped her fingers lightly on the table.

“Very bright girl, that one,” she said.

Well. This changed things. If he _were_ to play at croquet, a condition to which he had not formally acceded, the game would start with team Veltin  & Ren at a psychological advantage over team Hux & whichever military dogsbody he chose to favour.

Ren continued to watch the game. After a shortish while, someone’s chronometer let out a lively chime, and Hux declared the match out of time. He and the Mitaka chap were the victors, and the lieutenant duly and smugly announced that under a “winners stay on” protocol, they would require a pair of challengers.

Abruptly, Kylo stood, and, without pause, made his way towards the croquet lawn. Life buzzed through the blades of grass beneath his feet.

“Ah, Ren. Joining us?”

“Consider this a challenge, brother dear,” Mrs Veltin called, as she followed in Ren’s wake.

“He’ll cheat,” Hux pronounced.

“He will not cheat,” Ellis stated.

Kylo took a step closer. “You truly believe that I would lower myself and waste my considerable powers on your garden game?”

“I suspect that you would cheat by whatever means at your disposal,” Hux said, an eyebrow hoisted.

“I will not cheat. If you were to pay attention, General, you would be able to see if I were encouraging the balls to break the kinetic laws. You would know if they were following a different path than predicted. It is a simple physics problem, after all.”

“Yes. Well. I shall be keeping an eye on you, though I would say that skill, finesse and experience play a considerable role in this game. Prepare to learn.”

Ellis chipped in. “Skill, finesse and experience which I also possess, D.” 

Ren left them to their point-scoring for a moment. It was apparent that he would not be able to take a clear shot with his mallet while wearing his long surcoat. He undid his belt, placed it carefully on the ground and loosened the side fastenings of his surcoat. He was sure that eyes were upon him, but there was nothing else that could be done. The surcoat was folded and placed to the side of the lawn, and his belt, and lightsaber, returned to his waist.  

“Right,” Ellis said. “You’ve been watching a little, and I expect you’ll have picked up more than most, but let me quickly brief you.”

“Continue.”

“We start here. Hoop one. Then we go through here, two, and here, three, and four, working our way around the outside of the rectangle in a left-hand-rule fashion, followed by the inner hoops five and six, imagine a spiral, then back to the start to go around the other way and finally terminating at the peg. Each hoop scores one point.”

“I’ll be sure not to lose my way.”

“In order to continue your turn, you must either hit your ball through the current hoop, or hit another ball, which we call a roquet,” she said, rolling the R with glee. “Once you have hit another ball you place your ball next to the ball you have roqueted, and strike your ball such as to move both: we call this a croquet shot, from which the game has its name. Following that, you are allowed another stroke, and you may choose to attempt to roquet yet another ball, or run your ball through the current hoop. Turn ends when you have no more strokes to play, or if you croquet a ball over the boundary.”

“Your pointless rule-making: helping the Order to achieve and progress.”

“Your opinion makes little difference to the mechanics of the game,” she sniffed. Boldly, Ren thought. He had to grudgingly admire her for it. “As you may have inferred, skilled and accurate play allows one to progress quite some way before relinquishing one’s turn. You should also know that one may take a croquet from each other ball once each per turn, until one runs a hoop, at which point the other balls become available to croquet again.”

“With skill and judgement a player can extend a turn almost indefinitely,” the General added.

“Indeed. Particularly with skill on the croquet shot. Simple kinetics, you’ll pick up the feel of it in no time. And as your playing partner I can endeavour to hit your ball into a position of advantage – including playing your ball through the necessary hoop – and hit the opposing team’s balls into positions of disadvantage to them and advantage to us. You will be no stranger to attempting to disadvantage my brother. And his balls,” she added, keeping a steel grip on her facial expression.

“So you will either carry me around like a burden, or use me as a tool.”

“Not at all. No more than my brother will with his playing partner.”

“I say,” began the Mitaka person, before choosing to swallow the rest of his words.

General Hux took the opportunity to break in with a loud “So,” and waited to be paid sufficient attention before continuing. “Let us begin.”

Ellis prodded a foot at the four balls and addressed her brother. “Going black and blue or red and yellow?” 

“Well, what would you prefer, Ren?” he asked breezily. “Black for your garb, giving Ellis blue, or red for your blade?”

“I take black.”

“Red for me, leaving the lieutenant with yellow.”

How wonderful it would be if they could simply get on with it. But there was the toss of a coin to be performed before they could start. Ellis called heads and won. Somewhat surprisingly, she played her first shot towards the lawn boundary. The General stepped up and played his red ball short of the far boundary. Since neither were directly approaching the hoop, it must be a deliberate strategy, and one that formed a test of some sort. A challenge.

“Well, Ren. What will you do here? If you hit my ball, you will be able to continue, but if you miss, my partner will take a shot at it.”

Kylo took the shot and just missed. He clenched his fist tight around the handle of his mallet.

The Mitaka person also missed, which mollified Kylo somewhat.

From here, Ellis fairly effortlessly collected his ball and played both through the first hoop. He bit at his cheek in silent resentment.

On the third hoop, Kylo found himself able to take a more active role in play, and played both his and Ellis’s ball through the relevant hoop.

“Good peel, sir,” Mitaka proclaimed.

“That's the term for playing another player’s ball through…”

Kylo cut her off. “No need to patronise me, Mrs Veltin.”

Although he was scrupulously avoiding using the Force to cheat, and resenting it awfully, his sensitivity to the Force did allow him to pick up emotional clues from the other three. This was not cheating, and in any case it was extremely difficult to avoid doing involuntarily. Most usefully to the game in hand, he could sense when Mitaka was nervous or doubtful about being able to make a particular shot. The primary reason for the lieutenant’s nerves was obvious – he was habitually wary of Kylo, and now Kylo had invaded a normally Ren-free space, causing more stress and tension. And he was also now slightly wary of the General, which he had not been before. The cause behind this was not hard to divine, and, indeed, Hux himself soon revealed it.

“Civil service?” he hissed at the lieutenant. “Did you know about this?”

“I could try to talk her around, sir, although I don’t think…”

“No, never mind.” The General shot a narrow look at his sister. “Never bloody mind.”

Interestingly, it did not seem as though the Mitaka girl was a strong disappointment to her own family. The brother was perfectly accepting of her choice, only fearing the disapproval of his superiors – still weak minded, Kylo noted. She was, on the other hand, certainly a source of contention between the Hux siblings. Kylo was torn between a feeling of spiteful glee that other families also had their problems, and resentment at being made to even _think_ about families and duty and vicarious ambition and bad choices and wasted potential. The Order was supposed to be the only family these people needed. Look how well _that_ doctrine was working, he thought, grimly.

He pushed this foolishness from his mind and returned to the game. Hux knelt to line up a shot, looking intently from beneath his sharp orange eyebrows. The sun glinted violently from them, and from his hair. A hat might have been advisable. Indeed, having been under the impression that he would remain masked for the duration, Kylo had not thought to apply any protection against ultraviolet radiation himself. The Hux siblings clearly had, and plenty of it, or they would by now be as red as the First Order banner hanging above the clubhouse doorway. Though he was not quite as pale, he would certainly be susceptible.  He might have to quietly request some of the substance. A sunburnt nose would not be a good look.

He found his control of the basic mechanics of the game was more than adequate, and his mind was getting around the tactics, and feeling out how to think a move or two ahead while taking into account the skills of the other players. Not being able to use the Force either to influence or to do any truly invasive poking about in minds was somewhat of a handicap.

The officers who had been playing before had taken seats on the terrace, and the young women had joined them. Kylo did not pay close attention to their chatter, but elements of it nonetheless seeped through into his consciousness, punctuated by more brays and yelps of laughter.

Kneeling to line up a shot of his own he found himself in close quarters with the lower legs of the General. The golden-orange hair on Hux's skinny little legs and the way it overlapped the tops of his white socks gave him a sudden urge to giggle, which for the sake of his own reputation he managed to restrain.

Now, suddenly, on hoop five, a problem. He had miscalculated. Or badly timed his shot. His confidence had overreached him. He was not as fast a learner as he had thought. 

He turned his thoughts and will away from the lawn.

Every stone in the nearby rockery lifted one metre into the air. Bits and pieces of soil crumbled from them and drip-dropped to the ground, attracting only the faintest attention from the assembled company. Hux picked up his ball to place it for a croquet shot. Kylo released the stones, and several heads jerked up at the sound of gravity doing its duty.

Hux delivered a disapproving look. “Easy does it, Ren.”

The game continued after the brief disturbance. Ellis stalked around, lining up balls first in her mind and then on the grass, setting up long breaks and making use of every other ball on the lawn. She was indeed an absolute demon at the game. Both Hux siblings were good, but she had a distinct edge over her brother. Kylo found himself getting into more of a consistent pattern of play, and, to be scrupulously fair, the lieutenant was a competent player when not distracted by worry about his professional standing. 

There was a scraping of chairs on the terrace, and Miss Benari stood from the table. “I shall have to take a shower very soon if I want my hair to be dry before I dress for dinner.”

 _Dressing for dinner_. He shuddered, and thanked the Force that he was not currently playing his turn. Hux lined up a shot, and Kylo found himself actually trying not to let his annoyance influence the flow of the Force around his ball, in order to not be called out as a low cheat.

Hux checked the chrono on his wrist and called time on the game. The final score was not in his favour to the tune of 16-20, largely thanks to Ellis’ skill and the sheer determination she showed in getting one up on her brother. Kylo had made a good temporary alliance, and had reaped the rewards.

The game now over, the next stage of proceedings loomed. Dressing for dinner. He had tried to pretend that this part was not actually happening. If anyone was expecting him to dress for dinner in any other way than by the wearing of the customary garb of a Knight of Ren, they would be sore disappointed. He wondered if Hux would wear his usual parade uniform, or if he would pull out something even more overstated. Let it not be something in white. Let there not be gold braid involved.

 

* * *

 

It was impossible to avoid. He would have to go unmasked to this blasted dinner and eat the damned food and talk to the damn awful people. 

Back in his guest room, Kylo picked grass and dirt from his surcoat and cursed. Poking about in the small wardrobe revealed a clothes brush. Unsurprising, really. He brushed at his clothes, and grimaced in resignation. 

There was dirt on his boots, too. It would be noticed. The wardrobe yielded up nothing that would help. Picking off the dirt with his fingers, he noted that a civilian establishment would have some sort of automatic shoe polishing device, but of course there was no such thing here, among the military, who seemed to love nothing more than shining their own boots and belt buckles, using their own personal brushes and cloths and little tubs of boot polish. In the members accommodation, every one of them would be spit-shining and brushing and perhaps steam-pressing. Hux would be in his element. Kylo wiped his boots with a dampened corner of a towel. It would have to do.

Lord Vader, he thought, had had a valet to take care of things like this. Perhaps one day soon the Supreme Leader might appoint him one.

After adjusting his belt, he looked in the mirror. He arranged his hair, tucking it over his collar, and pulled on his gloves. It would have to do. 

For some reason, he glanced back at the mirror. This was a mistake, and a grave one at that. He caught his face at a different angle, and saw suddenly the weak, slack features of a failed Jedi, who had been cheated of his destiny by his own foolish trusting weakness. All kinds of terrible memories were unsheathing their blades and threatening to attack. He banished them with a barked curse. A little focus would remind him that his true work was a long way from this irrelevant social gathering. He pulled the Force close enough around him that he saw nothing but deep empty blackness for twenty or thirty seconds: the ever-reliable source of calmness and strength.  

He would do this.

With a series of resounding thuds, Kylo Ren descended the stairs, having regained a good portion of his usual composure.

Indistinct chatter greeted him. He noted, with small relief, that all officers present and clutching sherry glasses were in number 2 parade uniform, with an absence of braid and decorations. Ellis Veltin was wearing a grey suit with First Order lapel pins. A glance showed another civilian administrator dressed likewise.

A steward offered him a glass of sherry from a tray. With a flat palm, he declined, but accepted a very small handful of salted nuts from a service droid. Staying for the moment at the safe outer rim of the gathering, he chose to look at the decor to distract from than the hubbub of nonsense humming in the Force. Panels of reddish wood and slate grey betaplast lined the room, an odd and incongruous melange. It was as though the person responsible had aimed to copy examples of both ostentation and minimalism, and had made various errors of transcription along the way. A thick coat of lacquer had been drafted in to make the best of things.

He did not go for long pondering the wall cladding without being discovered and seized upon like a rogue operative by his host.

“Ah. Ren. Do you like the panelling?”

“It’s fine.” Kylo quickly calculated how much further he could annoy Hux in the short time available. “Adequate. Shiny in places.”

The General ignored him, or at least affected to. “Mainly mahogany from Sullust,” he boasted. “Soon we will have new Corellian oak in the morning room.” Hux nodded to himself, and swelled with pride. “What are these worlds for if we can’t enjoy their bounty? The best to the best, of course.”

“That is… not so important to me.”

“Your monkish ways are yours to continue, of course, Ren.”

A gong sounded, and the assembled company filed dutifully in to the dining room. Kylo made his way to his allotted seat. He was pleased to see that he was seated as the guest of honour, on the right hand of the head of table, and less pleased at the fact that, as General Hux was seated at head of table, he would be stuck with him again. On his right was a colonel with streaks of white in her hair, and opposite was a blond haired man he had not seen before. 

Hux led the company as they stood and proclaimed an oath to the First Order.

Over a starter of toast and fish, the man opposite introduced himself as a financial development and resourcing officer, and Kylo quickly deduced that he was a rogue in officer’s dress. The job of maximising return on investment was usually done by investing in the businesses of criminals and racketeers operating in Republic space. First Order brass pretended to be unaware, even as they proclaimed a bone-deep commitment to law and order. But Kylo knew full well that credits did not grow on trees and deals needed to be done. He also knew that those doing the deals have every opportunity to cream a little off the top as they went. He would look into the affairs of this officer. The task of transforming the Galaxy could not be a get-rich-quick scheme for greedy operatives.

Hux made more or less acceptable attempts to involve Ren in conversation while a rather disappointingly bland main course of chicken and potatoes was taken. He detected a little flirtatiousness coming from Hux, above and beyond the charm that he had seen earlier. Half smiles and something murmuring quietly in the Force. Perhaps planetside air and food had an effect on him. He felt rather oddly for the man, if his blood could be got up by the plainest of baked chickens.

Kylo sipped at his wine, and let a steward top up his glass. The quality of the wine far outpaced the quality of the food  It wasn’t the best he’d had, by a long way, but he inferred that the club had a decent wine cellar. Possibly ill-gotten. He glanced across at the resourcing officer again. Tame thief or greedy nest-featherer, he wondered. Certainly highly self-interested, although that could be said of almost every person present at dinner.

Hux, a particular case in point of this self-centredness, was now ministering to the officers on the other side of him, and Kylo likewise turned away, catching some conversation from further down the table.

“How’s old man Veltin?”

“Doing fine, so he tells me.”

“On patrol?”

“Indeed, the _Regulator_ is on patrol for the foreseeable, though he hopes for a short stretch of leave soon if he can get a transport.”

Ellis Veltin seemed not to miss her admiral husband particularly much. It was sometimes hard to tell with these old continuity Imperials, who had been among the colder and more arid members of galactic society back in the days before the Empire was born. By way of contradiction to Mrs Veltin’s somewhat astringent demeanour, there was by now a definite note of sexual forwardness in the air, coming from various directions. He could not, after three glasses of wine and that on top of the liquor that had lurked within the afternoon’s fruit cup, quite pick out each originating life form with his usual confidence. Major Sander was leering at Miss Benari, to the quite obvious disapproval of both Miss Benari and Miss Mitaka. _Stab him with a fork_ , he thought loudly in the direction of Miss Benari. _He is weak minded_. She did not seem to take the hint.

Captain Talbetz was discussing surface transportation with a naval commodore. Trying to be clever. Neither man, quite obviously to Kylo, had any idea what they were talking about. Without turning his head to address them directly, he loudly stated that he had been to the planet they were discussing and it had absolutely nothing in common with Talbetz’s wild ignorant claims. (Why had his Master sent him here to suffer like this?) He recalled to himself, though, another part of that boy he had been, the quick witted senator’s son who knew these dreadful social situations well. 

“I do travel,” he said. “More planetside than most of you. The First Order should be more careful of false reports and rumours.” 

“I apologise, sir,” Talbetz, said, meekly. He took a breath to continue, but got no further, as Kylo held him discreetly still. He was better quiet than he was yelping and squawking.

“The Supreme Leader’s Enforcer does travel a great deal in his duties. We should remember that,” the commodore said, attempting to mollify the situation.

“Repeating rumours and half-baked ideas does us no favours,” another officer continued. What sycophants, all of them. “What does our Deputy Minister make of this?” he asked, turning to Ellis Veltin.

Mrs Veltin smiled and shrugged. “Communications has the task of transmitting messages to our citizens and indeed our military. Values, loyalty, order. The assessment of intelligence of all kinds is a job for others.” There were nods and noises of affirmation. “What the people need to know, and what you need to know, are two different things.”

“Slippery bloody woman,” the colonel muttered between her teeth.      

At this point, Hux stood up and dinged a fork handle against a glass to gain the attention of the company.

“Oh, a speech,” some muttered.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hux began. “Officers of the First Order. I am sure you appreciate the honour of being invited here to share your planetside leave with our Supreme Leader’s own apprentice and Enforcer,” he proclaimed. “Only a few officers and family members were considered, and even fewer chosen. You are among the crème de la crème, current and future leaders, and you must carry that responsibility with grace and with pride. Though we continue our recreation, as in peacetime, we never forget our purpose, to bring peace and order to the Galaxy. Some of us are accompanied by our own families,” He glanced down the table to Mrs Veltin, who was raising her wine cup with a sarcastic smile. The Mitakas nodded at each other. Kylo gritted his teeth. “But for all of us, the Order is a family. We live, work, play, and succeed together. Every day we are further unified. Strong. Indefatigable.” 

 He raised his glass and his voice to deliver a toast. “To the First Order, and to victory!” All repeated the toast, raised their wine glasses, and supped.

Conversation began once again.

A bottle of fortified wine was making its way around the table. Kylo allowed himself a small measure, and, while pouring, took note that the bottle was of Imperial vintage. So the First Order Army and Navy Club did have a good wine cellar, if the output of the kitchen was not quite yet fit for rulers of the Galaxy. He couldn’t bother the Supreme Leader with such petty complaints, but he would certainly make it known to Hux. Perhaps not straight away. It would be ideal ammunition for a future contretemps.

Unaware that he was being gently plotted against, Hux continued to be quite charming to the officers around him, in the face of some deeply tedious conversation. His demeanour was as fake as a nine and a half credit chip, of course; but Kylo found himself almost impressed, simply because the charm was working. Hux was not stabbing anyone with a fork, or using a salt cellar to inflict a head injury. Rather, he was entertaining his awful little colleagues.

Shortly, Kylo rose from the table and found his way back out into the garden. It was a relief to be away from the oppressive atmosphere of after dinner conversation between military personnel who did not know one another well. False camaraderie on one side, and stilted reworking of stale topics on the other.  Not to mention the incongruous smiles and suspicions of batted eyelashes on the part of his co-commander.

Walking out at this point surely could not get him in hot water with his Master. Perhaps he should seek out his pilot and get in the shuttle and leave. Unfortunately he was just a shade too drunk to fly himself. Where might the pilot be, he wondered – in his rooms perhaps, or socialising with other non-commissioned officers or indeed the club servants.

He found a place to stand by a large flowering bush and stared into the dusk of the garden. Moonlight gave the surroundings a lovely silvery tone. It was, as far as anything had been since his arrival on Home World, tranquil.

Footsteps approached. He could sense who they belonged to with barely the slightest effort.

“How pleasant to find you out here, Ren.”

“General Hux. Will your fellows not miss you?”

“I'm letting them entertain each other. If you can call it that.”

Kylo made a muted snort of laughter.

“All getting a bit much, to be quite honest,” Hux admitted.

“You've been a good host. They should be grateful.”

“Ha, Kylo. That's quite kind of you. I'm unused to this. Is it the wine?”

“Might be.”

“Everyone is impressed to meet you, you know. Most of them don't know how to act or what to say, but they are rightly impressed.”

“I'm not a museum exhibit.”

“They get to see you and to report back to their comrades how fearsome you were, or how surprisingly handsome you were, or how good you were at tennis. And they gain some pride and honour in so doing.”

“I hate it.” Tennis? Was he going to have to play tennis, on top of everything else? He had played tennis as a boy, on occasion, and had been quite good at it. But never mind the threat of more sport. Hux had said something else there, too. Before he could reflect more deeply, Hux spoke again.

“And perhaps they see how well I deal with you. Or how well you deal with me.”

“I have been extremely patient, now that you choose to mention it.”

“You have. And it’s right that they see it. They are all the crème de la crème, you know, as I said. From the best families. And they’re impressed with you. I think sometimes I don’t let you know how much we’re all impressed by you. We do value you. I do, certainly.”

Without doubt the wine was talking now. The air, for its part, was full of the scent of white flowers.

“The moons are very pretty, when they are in the sky together.”

“They are. They give a pleasant light.”

They were standing very close.

Their hands brushed together.

The Force flowed, and coursed, and made its path clear. That path was short and quick, and led them, with only minimal clumsiness, into each others’s arms, with an “ah,” and an “I see.” Hux’s kiss was eager and warm, and his lips soft and smooth. 

The wine was the permission Kylo seemingly needed to give himself up to the unexpected embrace. He felt young, like a teenager seeking out some companionship at a formal diplomatic event. Like a student sneaking away from his studies to find something desired but forbidden. The sensations were half-familiar, but now, at last, it didn’t matter. He had put up with a lot in the course of the day, and in this moment, under the moonlight, he could do as he liked.

Hux trailed a finger over the curve of Kylo’s brow bone. Kylo let himself be exposed and examined. “You really are, you know,” Hux said.

“What am I?”

“Surprisingly,” Hux murmured, leaving his sentence half undone. “Really quite lovely.” His touch was exceedingly pleasant.

“Perhaps _you’re_ surprisingly tolerable,” Ren said. “Or perhaps,” he said airily, “it’s simply your wine that’s surprisingly pleasant and easy to drink.”

Hux’s fingers laced delicately into Kylo’s hair. “My sister thinks we’re already, you know. Up to this sort of thing.”

“I know.”

“Oh, Ren, you _didn’t_. We did agree about your invasions.”

“I didn’t have to. She was making some quite pointed digs.”

“Oh. Damn. Well. I almost hate to prove her right.”

“Almost?”

“I’m enjoying myself.” He pressed himself closer against Kylo, who took more kisses from him, planting a hand in the small of his back (so slender and delicate and really rather precious to hold) to keep him close. 

“You wanted to put your hands on me at table,” Kylo said. “But you couldn't, under the eyes of your officers and your fellows.”

“I shan't deny it.”

“Good. Honesty suits you. Though you seldom wear it.”

 

* * *

 

On waking, Kylo immediately began weighing up the events of the night before. How had he allowed himself to fall into temptation in this way? He couldn’t blame the wine; that would be a pathetic lie born of cowardice.

There was, he mused, at last some satisfaction to be had in the fact that General Hux would surely be even more troubled and conflicted by the situation.

He decided to linger a while in his bedroom rather than going down to breakfast straight away. Hux was the type to breakfast early, of that he was sure. He looked out of the window and watched two droids working in the garden, keeping it neat and orderly and controlled. A tiny pang of discomfort came to him on seeing the rockery disarranged by his sadly necessary outburst with the Force.

Breakfast, when Kylo eventually descended to it, was a spread of eggs and hot meats and fish and warm breads. A few sidelong glances greeted him. 

“You saw the monster fed last night,” he said from under a stormy brow, “and how lucky you are to have been granted a repeat performance.” They looked away, embarrassed. There was no fight to any of these people, who were supposed to make up an active military. Coming from combative stock, Kylo found this not only disappointing but alienating. Thinking again, he amended his judgement. He did at least get some pushback from Hux. Even though it was almost always petty and ill-placed, it was something. The man was fearless enough to have flirted with him. Successfully, at that. 

After making swift work of three eggs and a small pile of cured meats, Kylo wandered into the club library and was pleased to find himself alone. He passed between two opposing ranks of sofas, flanked by shelves of antique books and collected data drives. He did wonder how many were genuine, and how many had been bought by the metre.

On reaching the far end of the room, he found himself facing a trophy cabinet and several rolls of honour. He picked a fragment of bacon from between his teeth and looked for familiar names. The Tarkin, Hux and Veers families seemed all well represented in the pre-Empire and Empire days. He supposed the statistics and honours must have been copied from old records, after this building and estate were commandeered by the Order. 

The door swung open. _Hux_ , he thought, without turning around.

Hux’s footsteps were partway across the floor before he greeted Kylo. “Ren. Good morning.”

Kylo turned his head.

“Taking in our sporting records?” the General began, with a forced breeziness.  “I know it must be tedious to you.”

“Maybe a little.”

“It’s been an honour to add to the old Imperial rolls.”

“I’m sure it has.”

“See, look. There’s my father on the cricket roll of honour.”

“I see.” There indeed he was. _B.S Hux  –  5 for 65_ for a Military Instructors eleven against an Engineering Corps eleven. In the same match was also noted _O.C Krennic – 153 runs_. Hux would certainly have to say something – his fascination with the doomed Director would always make itself known in one form or another.

“And the Director, of course.” Instantly predictable. “I’m told by those who remember him that he was something to behold at the crease.”

“Was he among your father’s five wickets there?” It did not take all of Kylo’s strength with the Force to guess that he wasn’t and to predict that Hux would make some excuse.

“No. No, actually. Krennic was left handed, and thus naturally less vulnerable to my father’s customary leg-breaks.” And there was Hux’s excuse. Kylo sensed there was something more there to probe at, but to do so would require more knowledge of the game of cricket than he possessed. 

“Not that his repertoire was limited, of course.”

Kylo raised an eyebrow and Hux cleared his throat. After a few seconds’ pause, he felt Hux looking him up and down again. “Are you sure leather against willow doesn’t appeal to you? You would be quite exceptional, I’m sure. Power, accuracy, daring – all edge of the seat stuff.” 

A non-committal murmur was appropriate, and Kylo duly produced one.

“Well. Anyway. This is us,” Hux said, indicating the roll of honour for croquet. 

Under the heading of Pairs Trophy the names M.J.W Tarkin and S.L Tarkin were repeated three years in a row, then superseded by D.B.M Hux and E.V.T Hux for two years, with a brief interregnum before they reappeared as D.B.M Hux and E.V.T. Veltin. Could the man’s status as bloody croquet champion really give him as much pride as his command, his damned flag rank? Kylo considered it, and tried to read Hux’s demeanour. He thought he had it: another string of pettiness and spite to Hux’s bow. “Did you beat the Tarkins?” 

“Indeed we did. Yes,” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Both times. Most rewarding. Stefania Tarkin simply _wilted_ you know, like a cooked lettuce.”

These children’s games for old Imperials: what had they to do with the destiny his Master had planned out for him? 

His own victory on the croquet lawn had been enjoyable, however. 

“But you didn’t beat me.”

Hux’s face was cold for a second, and then he smiled thinly. “I will admit that the better pair won. My sister is, like you in her own small way, a weapon in human form. Unfortunate in some ways that she takes a desk job.”

This rightly ought to be a terrible insult against the Master of the Knights of Ren, tip of the First Order’s spear, Enforcer of the Supreme Leader’s will, but such estimations would have been made without benefit of having experienced Ellis Veltin at close quarters. A piercer of armour and an insidious poison. Had she had the gift of manipulation of the Force, she would have made a most worthy Knight.

“Her choice?”

“With father’s encouragement. And she has the children.”

“And you have the command.”

“She likes you, you know.”

“Hmm. The approval of government functionaries. The thing I surely crave the most.”

“Don't be like that.”

But he did want to be like that. Especially here, among all this fakery and nonsense. He took a step away from Hux. “I have things I must attend to,” he announced, and departed before he could say more.

On the way back up the stairs, he assessed the situation. It had not gone too badly, on reflection. Both had successfully avoided mentioning the events of the previous night. This in itself showed that they were working towards their best interests.

Kylo’s guest room, when he reached it, was not the tranquil safe haven that he had been hoping for. On entering the room he was struck with immediate horror that the sanctity of his personal space and possessions had not been respected. Not only had the bed been made, but there were items of clothing laid out upon it. Clothing that did not belong to him.

Not knowing whether it was a droid or a sentient who had invaded his privacy in this way was most distressing. He checked his belongings. Nothing had been obviously poked about with, and his helmet was still on a shelf in the wardrobe where he had left it.

He inspected the items of clothing. One pair of shorts, similar to those that had been worn yesterday afternoon by Hux and the other officers. He picked them up. Unfortunately, they looked like they had every chance of fitting him. Next, one shirt, short sleeved, soft material. One pair white cotton socks, worn at the heel. One pair gym shoes, or…  more accurately, tennis shoes. These were old and somewhat sad looking. He inspected these quite carefully, and found them to be in his size. Taken together, along with some ideas Hux had thrown around along with his silly romantic overtures, this could only mean one thing.  It was as bad as he had imagined. He was going to be called upon to play tennis. Having been railroaded into a croquet match was bad enough, but would he really have to tog up in this kit and go, practically bare-legged, to the club tennis courts? And in order to do what? To play against whom? He would make absolute mincemeat of Hux at tennis, he was sure. And he had better, for the underhandedness of the situation. Obtaining these garments, waiting until Kylo was at breakfast, then having a member of staff plant them here – who did the General think he was to carry on in this way?

His comm device pinged at him. 

_Ren. Cordial invitation to a set or two of tennis at 2pm. Will loan you a racquet._

He replied.

_Why?_

The answer: _It’ll be great for morale._

_Do I have to wear this?_

_You don’t have to do anything, but the clothing provided is the correct uniform for the task at hand._

And so he found himself, dressed in less than he usually wore for physical training, marching towards the tennis courts. A pleasing crunch on the gravel avenue was made by what had to be the only spare pair of tennis shoes in his size.

Hux and another man were ready at the tennis courts to greet him, both dressed in cotton shirts and shorts, and bearing tennis racquets and canisters of tennis balls. Hux had a knitted sweater slung around his shoulders like a shawl, and Kylo struggled to place it between the competing categories of _ridiculous_ and _quite attractive in a winsome, perky sort of a way_. He recognised the other fellow as one of two admirals who had been present at dinner, a sandy-haired, biscuity sort of chap. He could not recall the man’s name, but no doubt he would be reminded of it shortly.

“Ah, there. You look splendid. How are the shoes?” Hux asked, as they entered a vacant court through a wire mesh gate.

“Were these the only pair, or the worst pair?”

“Look, we weren’t exactly overflowing with spare tennis shoes the size of a bloody frigate.”

The admiral muted a laugh, in the interests of immediate self preservation.

“So you actually did your best? How commendable.”

Hux smiled a thin, sharp smile at him “Thank you most kindly.”

“Who am I playing against? Not you again, I hope.”

Hux announced that he would be umpiring the match, and introduced Admiral Devar as Ren’s opponent. Ren shook hands with him.

The bounce of new tennis ball against hard court surface was very pleasing. Kylo tried making the ball bounce a few centimetres short of the ground, but it wasn’t nearly as pleasant.

Hux took a seat on a high stool by the net, and took a small datapad from his pocket. “None of that in play, by the way, Ren.” 

Kylo rolled his eyes. 

“Anyway. How’s your serve?”

In response, Kylo made two practice serves.

“Bloody hell fire. Well. Good luck, Admiral.”

“Thank you, General. Thank you _ever_ so much.”

Admiral Devar managed to hold his own serve, but struggled to find much defence against Kylo’s power. Kylo knew his own strengths and knew that he had to keep points short and decisive, as if he allowed Devar to bring him close to the net, he might not have as strong an advantage. His footwork, honed through combat, was strong, but he was not sure if he could count on it in these ropey old shoes.     

As the first set tie break began, grey clouds gathered. Hux squinted at them. “Might pass us by.”

Across the courts, tennis shorts, skirts and shirts ruffled in an oncoming breeze.

“It is going to rain,” Devar proclaimed, as if this insight were worthy of note.

Hux wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps we’ll pack up.”

“Aren’t you from Arkanis? Rain is your birthright.” 

“Well that’s as may be, but I do happen to prefer the weather here.”

On the adjacent court, Miss Benari looked up to the sky. Hux flinched. A drop of rain had caught him right on his cheek. More drops of rain followed, increasing in frequency.

“Right, that’s it. Abandon.”

All present ran for the cover of the clubhouse, except for Ren, who walked with long rapid strides. This was not a situation that required sprinting. Certainly not bare-legged sprinting. 

Once back in the clubhouse, he found himself battling with not only the practicalities of the situation, but some unwelcome adversaries from the pit of memory.  A sudden and unwelcome spike of familiarity in the act of drying off hair after being caught in the rain while engaged in some recreation out of doors. Fragments of the boy he had been (weak and foolish, without doubt) who had attachments (weak) to friends (needy, naive) and had spent time outdoors in aimless play, in wet weather.

This place was dangerous.

He began to understand more fully why his Master might have placed this un-declinable invitation in front of him. But he had faced tests before, and he had endured.

It was announced that all would gather in the Sloane Room and take hot tea and sandwiches. Perhaps there would be indoor entertainments. Kylo shuddered.

“Not catching cold, Ren?”

“No.”

Hot tea was welcome. More mildly awkward conversation, less so. Three Navy officers competitively trying to name as many Imperial fleet groupings as possible, even less so.

Amid the throng of people, Ellis Veltin sought him out again. “Not too dull for our Knight Commander?”

“It is tolerable.”

“Ah,” she said. “Always been involved in this sort of thing, even as kids; on the ships and in the Empire days.”

“Perhaps you forget. I wasn’t born then. I never saw the Empire.”

“We met some of the great heroes. We met,” and she leant towards him, lowering her voice to impart something of great import, “Lord Vader.”

Kylo’s heart pounded. “You met Lord Vader?”

“He came to Arkanis to visit the academy. Moff Julstan presented father to him, and father presented us.”

“What was he like?”

“Very tall. Very tall indeed, taller than my father. Quite imposing, obviously, in the way he walked. And of course, wearing his armour and his cape.”

“Did he say anything? To you? To either of you?” He was breathless, his lips numbing.

“Father tells the story. It may be that my memory is more of father’s retelling than of what I actually saw with my own eyes. No, wait. Silly woman. I have a holo in my handbag: I’ll show you so you can see, at least. Then I shall answer questions. Projector’s this way.”

She led the way back through into the library. Kylo swallowed, breathed, and followed. The current occupants of the room, two young officers, made a quick apology and exit. Privacy gained, he sat on the arm of a sofa, hands in his lap, awaiting the impossible.

Ellis dug into an inner compartment of her bag. She switched on the holoprojector and an image swam to life. Darth Vader stood, accompanied by a man in Imperial uniform; the Moff, Kylo supposed; and facing another man in uniform who looked a little like General Hux, but perhaps a little shorter, certainly stouter, and not at all so elegant. This red-headed bushy-eyebrowed man had his left hand on the shoulder of a red-headed little girl in grey school uniform with a red necktie. The girl held the hand of a smaller boy in kindergarten uniform. The small boy’s hair had been combed back and his face was set defiantly. Hux. _His Hux_. Kylo clenched his hands to prevent them shaking. His Hux, meeting Darth Vader, face to face, and he’d never said a single bloody word about it.

“I remember Lord Vader looked down at me and I nodded my head politely. D was quite small, as you see there; and Lord Vader picked him up –” Kylo bit down on the inside of his lower lip at this – “and took a good look at him. D sort of stared back, I think, he wasn’t the least bit afraid. Darth Vader liked that, according to father.”

Kylo made some effort to keep his voice steady, even as the Force itself seemed to wish to burst out from him in a hot burning wave. “What did he say? What did your father say?”

“According to Father, Vader said something like ‘strong will and strong minds; they will serve the Empire well,’ and of course Father was immensely proud.”

“I should expect that he was,” Kylo said, with awe.

“We were too. The Empire fell, but here we are. Strong will and strong minds.”

“Yes. Indeed so. Your brother has never mentioned this to me.”

“I expect he didn’t want you to ask a lot of questions.”

This was all far too much. Hux, his General Hux, had not only met Darth Vader, but had been picked up and held by him. Kylo’s grandfather had held the boy Hux in his arms for one brief moment. It was awesome and intolerable. Yet it didn’t make sense. Something so guaranteed to fire this intense searing jealousy in him ought, surely, to have been exploited by Hux. Hux ought to have been lording this over him from the earliest opportunity.

Vader had _liked_ him, at least according to the retelling of the tale by the late Commandant Hux, a self-serving man who could not be considered to be an entirely reliable witness. Either Brendol Hux had invented the compliment to his children, or Vader had actually expressed such a view. Lord Vader was not a flatterer. If he had expressed such a view, it would have been meant sincerely.

He had to confront Hux about this. Immediately. Ellis had set something in motion, had let loose a pent up reservoir of the Force, and it would flow forth until there was satisfaction. In a storm flap of black, he departed the library. Behind him, he heard Mrs Veltin switch off the holoprojector with a brusque click. 

He found his man and bundled him to the fringe of the gathering. “You never told me.”

“I never told you what?”

“About Lord Vader!”

“Oh.”

Hux led him around the corner to a rear corridor that afforded just enough privacy for a quiet conversation.

“Your sister told me the story and showed me the holo. You met Darth Vader.”

“I was very small.”

“Yes. I have just seen the holo. You were very small. Small enough to be picked up. By Darth Vader.”

Hux laughed. “Yes. I was.”

“What was it like. To meet him. What was it like?”

“I was very little, as we both keep saying. We stood and waited, and we were both well behaved, although Ellis was a little on the bossy side…”

Kylo clenched his jaw, unable to give much of a damn about these small-minded details of intra-Hux-family relations.

“…And he was introduced by the Moff, and shook hands with father, and then he looked at us as we did our best to look smart, of course. Me being small, he picked me up to get a closer look.”

Hearing it from Hux’s own lips was even worse than hearing it from his sister. The grandfather Kylo had never known had picked this boy up and looked at him. Hux had looked on him with his own eyes.

“What was it like?” he repeated yet again.

“We knew it was special. Even then, I knew Darth Vader was a special, powerful person. And he seemed that way.”

“Were you afraid?” Kylo asked, knowing the answer.

“No, not at all. He was big and imposing and impressive, but I wasn’t scared.”

“How did you feel? Impressed? Proud?”

“Yes. Proud. To meet him, and proud of not being scared. Other people were, but I wasn’t.”

Kylo bit his lip and stared at Hux.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be having this conversation, to be perfectly honest.”

“No. Not true. You could have used it against me. To taunt me. But you didn’t. Why not?”

“You’re full of questions, Ren. You seem quite affected.”

“It’s important. Spiritually.”

Hux nodded thoughtfully at him, but stayed silent. 

“Hux.”

“What?”

“I want to…”

“What?”

“Last night I didn’t know that I was kissing someone who had met Darth Vader. And I want to know what that’s like.”

“Oh, Ren, you absurd man. Come here. Sate your curiosity, if you must.”

He slid closer, leant in and kissed him. His lips were as soft as Ren had remembered.

“How is that? Better?”

“I think so, yes.”

Hux smirked in his customary fashion. “That is good, then, isn’t it?”

It was good, but it wasn’t enough. “Can I see it? The memory.”

“No.”

“Please. I’ll be gentle. You won’t feel it, if you relax.”

“Why do you need to get in my head?”

“I need to see it. Please. It’s important.”

“Spiritually important?”

“Yes. Let me see.”

“OK. But be careful. I’ll think of it, alright, and then you… do what you do.”

“Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you. It only hurts when I have to fight and take things.”

“I’m not afraid.”

He drew the memory quite easily from the top layer of Hux’s mind, where it lay waiting for him. It was just as Hux had described, but the feeling and _being_ of it from the first-person point of view was so much more than either a grainy holo or a retold story could honour. There was the look of Vader’s armour and helmet, the swish of his cape, his voice, and then the clasp of two strong hands lifting him, and a brief, unafraid, defiant stare at Vader’s mask, the very mask that Kylo had obtained at great expense and that he communed with and venerated. The mask was all that he had of his grandfather, and _Hux_ , of all people, had this memory. And now _he_ had it, for himself. 

He breathed deep breaths, holding on as strongly as he could to his composure. “You looked at him. With your own eyes.” He took Hux’s face in his hands and stared into his eyes, trying to gain something from them by the mysteries of the Force, something that had perhaps lain dormant in there since Vader’s gaze had penetrated them. It was hard enough to fathom that these eyes which looked at him daily with varying degrees of petty annoyance, these pretty pale eyes, had been looked at by the great man himself.

Along with the memories of a brief, unafraid, defiant stare came some echoes, links to other times that look had been used. It hit Kylo with full force. That defiant, challenging regard of Hux’s. Unafraid and unimpressed. The way that Hux looked at him in meetings and on the bridge. Not like the other officers looked at him. He had looked at Vader that same way. _Hux looked at him the same way he had looked at Lord Vader_.

Kylo heard himself utter a muted whining sound that sounded as if it belonged to another sort of creature entirely.

“What is it, Ren?”

Kylo pressed his lips to Hux’s. He tried to speak but only managed to kiss. _The way he looked at him_. He looked at him like he had looked at Darth Vader. Kylo felt exalted. At last worthy, through the haughty, disregarding, regard of this man. A haughty regard that Vader himself had approved of.

“I like,” he said finally, “the way you look at me.” He stared into Hux’s eyes. “And the way you are, under the surface. Not afraid.”

Hux brushed Kylo’s hair away from his face. “This is interesting,” he said.

“It is.” He really had underestimated Hux. He reached out into the Force for Hux's surface emotions. Fascination. Some fondness. Excitement. “Everyone else is one way. And you, another. Worthy of further exploration.”

Hux pressed closer to him. “I like to look at you,” he whispered into his ear. “I liked looking at you today.”

“In tennis things?” He was particularly easy to read at this moment.

“Well, yes. I can admit that, can’t I? Don’t you like it, when I’m honest?”

 

* * *

 

The little sojourn was over, and it was time for Ren to depart. It was with an uncharacteristic spring in his step that he found his way to the club’s parking garage, where his shuttle awaited.

“A pleasant weekend, pilot?”

His pilot was a little taken aback, which amused him. “Yes, sir. Thank you for asking, sir.”

“Good.” 

The whole trip had not been a disaster after all, Kylo mused, as he stowed his bags and settled into his seat. He had been tested, but had, he felt, passed the tests. The stated purpose of the trip had been achieved, and certainly relations between the Knight and his military colleagues had become far more cordial. The Supreme Leader was most certainly wise to have suggested and encouraged it all. However, Kylo thought that perhaps he would not _yet_ brief the Leader with the finer details of just how the new détente between the commanders of the Finalizer had been achieved. 

He gazed down on the green and grey landscape of Home World, looking out for the military spaceport, tracing back surface landmarks to place it on the surface. He could just make out a shuttle or two, rising steadily. His personal readout from the ship’s great wing-bound sensor racks told him that two friendly craft, high-ranked, were in repulsorlift atmo flight below and to starboard. His shuttle would reach the waiting Finalizer a good twenty or thirty minutes ahead of theirs. Enough time to unpack. And then, perhaps, to request a debrief with the General. 


End file.
